


It was a dark and stormy night...

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cheating, Crabbe in a Bikini, Crack, F/F, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, POV First Person, This Is STUPID, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: Pure and utter crack, so don't expect anything that makes some sense.





	It was a dark and stormy night...

**Author's Note:**

> So I was challenged to write something with no sense at all. And that I did. Now, I don't even know how I wrote it, nor if I managed to render it with the translation, since a lot of the original jokes made much more sense in italian. But I hope there's still something left.  
> I don't know.

It’s a dark and stormy night at Hogwarts.

Except it’s May and it’s sunny, but a nice storm it’s always cooler.

Well, it worked for Noah. Bloody hell, now I should gather animals all around Hogwarts. I just hope Luna won’t insist to bring the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. But then again, were there Snorkacks on the Ark?

Anyway, I don’t know how to speak to God, and what if no white dove comes after the flood? Perhaps does a Hippogriff come? And who should I bring with me?

Ok, it’s better if I let this go.

It’s a cheerful and sunny morning of May at Hogwarts.

“Ron!” Harry calls me. I don’t stop, I keep walking. “Ron?! What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching me and putting a hand on my shoulder. I sigh, and stop.

“Hi, Harry. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I answer, moping.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks, cheerful. Perhaps he’s coming from Dumbledore’s office. I shake my head. All that Longbottom Leaf Neville provides won’t do you any good.

“I was thinking about Noah’s Ark.” I say, frowning. He looks at me as if I’ve gone mad. Mad, I? Has he checked on his neurons, lately? They’re slowly sinking, it’s like his head has collided with an iceberg!

“Come on, Ron, I know you. What are you actually thinking about?” he insists. I sigh and shrug.

“Well... it’s about Hermione.” I whisper, then I burst out into tears.

“Hermione? Ron, what happened?” I sniff elegantly, then I turn to face him.

“You... you see, I found out that... that...”

“What? Does she have lice? Is she a Death Eater? Is she the body double of Gargamel in the stunt scenes?” he tries to guess. I punch him, just for the sake of it.

“Harry, she... she’s cheating on me!” I confess in the end. Harry looks at me perplexed, so I go on. “I’ve read stuff that you people wouldn’t believe.” I say, velvety, and now it’s Harry’s time of punching me. “Hey! What’s wrong with you?” I scream. He shrugs.

“I’m sorry, I needed to put an end to the Blade Runner moment.”

I pass a hand over my face, exasperated, then I continue.

“Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort. Zabini. Nott. Longbottom. Finnigan. Snape. Mermaid Melody. Huckleberry Hound. Even with _my sister_!” I complain, then I glare at him. “And with you as well, I know you’ve been with her, don’t try to lie to me!” I scream, pushing him. Harry snorts.

“Oh, come on Ron! And you’re finding out just now that Hermione is a woman of leisure?” he chuckles. I start crying again, but he couldn’t care less. “And I can understand you being mad about all the others, but what about me? I do deserve a prize, don’t I? After all, it’s I who’s seen Cedric die, I who’s witnessed Voldemort’s return, I who’s sang a cover of Los Del Rio’s Macarena!” he complains, and I trip him, just to avoid for him to start again with the oh-how-sad-it’s-my-life routine.

“But this is not the worst. I’ve read she dates... she dates...” I try to start again, stuttering. Harry yawns noisily.

“Malfoy, yes, the whole school knows.” I blush violently.

“What do you mean the whole school knows? But they hate each other! Instead in those... well... fanthings, in those stuff I read...” I take a deep breath, prepared to talk. “The worst I read started with ‘It was a silent night’…” I say, but the Boy Who Lived a.k.a. Scared a.k.a. Harry a.k.a. Papa Smurf interrupts me.

“Holy night.”

“Maybe it was Christmas.”

“With the donkey and the ox.”

“What about baby Jesus?” I open my eyes wide.

“Weren’t we singing a song?” I ask.

“Really? I thought we were setting up a nativity scene.”

“And who am I?”

“The ass.”

“And you?”

“Baby Jesus.”

“And Draco?”

“Herod.”

“And Snape?”

“Pontius Pilate.”

“The one who washed his hands?”

“Yeah, asking Snape to wash something is a bit like asking McGonagall to Transfigure in a Chocolate Frog.” he says. I shrug, and start telling my story again.

“Anyway, there was Hermione, except she wasn’t my Hermione. She has her eyes a little caramel, a little hazelnut. A little chocolate and a little nougat.” I say.

“Of course, add a little Rocky Road, a little black cherry and we’ve opened an ice-cream parlour.” he ironizes. I don’t listen to him, and keep going.

“She had golden curls which leant elegantly over her thin shoulders...” and neither this time Harry lets me finish.

“Hermione?”

“Yes.”

“The one that if you look very carefully into her hair you may end up finding a beaver’s lair?” I sigh and nod.

“Yes, Harry, YES, I’m talking about her. But let me finish, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” I sigh dramatically. “In this farce, Draco’s described as... the Prince of Slytherins.” I tell him, deadly serious. He grins.

“Ron, at times I wonder if we go to the same school! You really didn’t hear about it?”

“What?”

“The pageant, of course! It was held in the Great Hall, all the Slytherins have paraded in a bikini and we voted for the best. Even if I don’t understand how Draco ended up winning... personally, I voted for Crabbe.” I’m more and more befuddled, and I glare at him.

“Vincent Crabbe?” I ask, doubtful. He gets angry, crosses his arms and turns his back on me.

“So what? He’s not that bad with a pink bikini!” he replies.

I repress the gagging, and go on.

“Ok, fine, Malfoy is the Prince of Slytherins. Well. But for Hermione to be with him... for her to call him _Drapoodle..._ that they embrace S&M into the Room of Requirement, trying positions worthy of Houdini... come on, it’s my girlfriend we’re talking about!” I protest, disgusted.

“Oh, you can’t complain. After all, it’s your fault if you never noticed Hermione flirting with anything that moves! Ron, really, don’t preach.” I blush and lower my eyes.

“She’s in trouble deep.”

“Ron! I told you, don’t preach.”

“She’s been losing sleep.”

“But she’s made up her mind.”

“Okay. So, what about the baby?”

“I don’t really know, they’re testing the DNA. It looks like it’s Parkinson’s.” I swallow, horrified.

“But... Harry... how’s it possible?” I ask.

“And what do I know? Apparently, Pansy has got some hidden qualities.”

“And since when male genitals are a quality?”

“I don’t know, Ron... I understand Dumbledore saying the school’s open to anyone, but werewolves are one thing and RuPaul’s another.” he agrees, then he starts walking again.

“I still can’t believe it... she looked like such a nice girl when we first met her! Do you remember how sweet she was?” Harry grimaces.

“Are we still talking about the obnoxious Know-it-All that after two days since the beginning of the term knew by heart all the books in the library? About that smart-arse little girl who Transfigured stuffed Teddy Bears into Rocking Horses during the second year? Are you really talking about her, Ron?” he ask, inquisitive. I snort.

“Okay, okay. Maybe she wasn’t all that sweet. But at least she wasn’t so... expansive!”

“And with ‘expansive’ do you mean a dog with female genitals?”

“What?” I reply, not understanding what he was trying to say.

“A bitc...” he starts, but I don’t let him.

“Okay Harry, I got it, it’s fine.” I mutter, offended.

“You’ve got to give up, my fried, you can’t be exclusive in the heart of the Queen of Griffins.” he said, a note of compassion in his voice. I frown.

“Queen of Griffins? And what’s that about? Did they parade in a swimsuit as well?” Harry opens his eyes wide.

“Who said they were wearing something? Anyway, I voted for Colin Creevey. He was way more fascinating than all of them.” he says, proud. I lean against the wall. I’m about to say something, when I see Draco Malfoy getting closer. I close my eyes and moan.”

“Speak of the devil...” I whisper, as soon as he reaches us and waves.

“Scared. Weasel.” Weasel? Weasel? Why? What if all of a sudden I started calling him Sable, how would it take it?

 “Ferret.” says Harry, smiling.

Ferret! How did I not think about that?

Draco grimaces.

“Can someone please tell me why do you call me that? Moody turned me into a bloody rodent for two minutes in the whole saga and now I’m scarred for life? And so, should we call McGonagall Pretty Little Pussy?” he protest. Harry chortles, then he leans an arm over the Slytherin’s shoulders. I jump seeing the way they look at each other.

“Hey, hey... can someone tell me what’s going on?” I say, choking. They both laughs, then Harry answers.

“What can I say... Crabbe’s not the only one who looks particularly good in a bikini.”

“But... and Hermione? I mean, I can understand with Hermione, but what about the two of you? What happened?” I blabber, close to an hysterical crisis worthy of a menopaused woman.

“Listen, Feather Duster... Hermione and I are so over. I mean, you can’t be with her too long. She misleads you, she plays all sexy, she lures you with all those ambiguous toys...” I squint thinking about that particular image. “...and then, once she’s got you in her grasp, she becomes an ordinary soppy little girl with the hormones rising more than the price of the barrel!” he explains. “That’s the reason why I fell back on the Big Hope of the Wizarding World a.k.a. Dumbledore’s boy a.k.a. My Darling Clementine.” he concludes, shrugging.

I get away from them, furious.

Hermione? Draco? Harry?

And what the _bloody hell_ about the O.K. Corral?

“Hey Ron!” I hear Harry yelling. “Will you come to the Great Hall tonight? Ravenclaws are parading in tulle and laces! And then we also have to elect Hufflepuff’s official Gardner!” I stop for a second, without turning.

It was a cheerful and sunny afternoon.

A dark and stormy night would’ve been better. Who said that, anyway? Was it Buwler-Lytton? Or maybe it was Snoopy?

Well, the way I see it, it could’ve also been said by Napoleon, it stays the fact what I would’ve been much more comfortable with a rock band made of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks than with the evidence that my girlfriend is a... dog with female genitals.

And that my best friend is the ugly copy of Boy George.

I keep walking, until I bump into Crabbe.

With a miniskirt and high heels.

Hogwarts’ not what it was before, I have to admit it.

As I have to admit that Vincent Crabbe, dressed like a high-end escort, is really, really fascinating.


End file.
